


the condition of emptiness (is too shameful to be divulged)

by symposiums



Category: The Mummy: The Animated Series
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symposiums/pseuds/symposiums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had given Anck-su-namun a sense of vindictiveness to witness such a beautiful thing without the royal knowing otherwise, a pomegranate firmly placed into her hand to do with as she pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the condition of emptiness (is too shameful to be divulged)

**and defeated hope, bursts into tears.**  
 **and the fierce tyrant, anguish that is a black banner on my bowed head.**

 

Her skin felt flush with the sun beating upon her with a watchful gaze. The trees had performed an amount of coverage for her, but not one to disguise the blush against the tips of her cheekbones, spilling onto the brush of her shoulders, and resting on the palms of her hands firmly gripped around the scythe.

Amaranth had burst into full flourish, covering the ground around them, wisped around the roots of the trees signifying their effervescence to their symbolic meaning; silently, she whispered her gratitude to the gods, for while they could not grant her the immortality of the lilac flower that dusted across the landscape, they ensured her safekeeping of both the mephitic amulet in her hand, as well as the companion to ensure its safety.

“Princess,” purred the woman next to her, fingers gently brushing her upper arm. “Your skin is hardly efficient in such harsh light—it makes you look quite lovely, actually. Like a nenuphar.”

Nefertiri, all too serious in her demeanor (in what her companion mused of—it was rare she had ever caused herself to laugh, but to hear such a thing was an aria not even the Gods could capture and lock into a dark tomb for safe keeping, with the way her head tilted back only slightly, shoulders with only the sliver of a movement. She had caught her one night, unbeknownst to the princess, conversing with another royal on the topic of her father, her back against a pillar, moonlight cascading the shadows of her collarbone and the curve of her shoulders, when she had burst into a fit of laughter. It had given Anck-su-namun a sense of vindictiveness to witness such a beautiful thing without the royal knowing otherwise, a pomegranate firmly placed into her hand to do with as she pleased) turned to look at her, lips captured into a firm line, and said, “I would rather you not compare me to a lily in such a dire situation.”

She felt herself swallowing a laugh (and oh, how lovely it would be to see the flush of her skin underneath the curve of that scythe, hands furled around her wrist; an atelier received to her by her own fortune) and instead, bowed her head, “Forgive me, your highness.”

It had not been a surprise to her that Nefertiri made no comment about the light caress of her fingers drawn along the length of her arm.

 

 

 

The wall was cool against her back, but it was to be no match compared to the fingers trailed along her clavicle—as cold as frozen waters against her heated skin as if to create the days full of heavy clouds broadened on the hazing skyline, met with a brio of thunder and the strike of lightning—while the lips against her jawline had been warm and unwelcoming. Teeth dragged against her skin as she shifted against the hard rocks behind her, letting out a frustrated cry.

“If they—“ she said, her words constrained, “—ever find out about this, they will have you eliminated.”

“Who is there to find out, my princess? There is no one here, but me and you.”

The harsh grin met with the contact of nails digging into her skin caused Nefertiri to groan; it drove her mad, the woman knowing how to have all of the control over her, when she was always the one to strike commands where needed, complimented by the fellow peasants on the street at her strong conciliation over the realm her father protected. Here, it was gone, diminished by the prospect of marks growing red and recovering to dark splotches of bruises in a sheer amount of short time.

“Don’t you ever wonder what they will make of _you_ , Nefertiri?”

The princess’s response was only met with another gasp at the lips against the base of her throat and the effleurage of her hand around Anck-su-namun, feeling the skin of her palm reverberating against a low laugh from her throat.

 

 

 

She was not surprised to find the bathhouse empty—for she knew the royal highness herself enjoyed her solitary ways, whisking people away with a toss of her wrist and a request to leave her be—Anck-su-namun heard nothing but the single splash of water slowly dripping into the pool like a melody. Her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth, lips wrenched into a smile as she spotted the curve of a porcelain shoulder, speckling like gold from the drops of water laid on the smoothness of skin, a line of small, dark trails like violets play upon the nape of her neck, leading into a crescendo of marks splaying on her back. They were not enough to bring any sort of concern, only dusted by certain angles of light or were brought to attention by another, but they laid there just on the surface of her skin.

Quietly, she watched Nefertiri dip her hands into the water—beautified with flowers laid upon the surface and the smell of oils (lavender, she supposed, or perhaps jasmine) soaking into her skin—pressing the damp rag against her neck and letting it slide over the curve of her shoulder, droplets of water falling onto untouched skin like crystals, down the length of her arm. It was certainly a sight for Anck-su-namun to see—royalty in the full bout of vulnerability; it was something of a mere knife against her skin, or a hand around her throat that could end her life with no trouble in such a state—and she had almost wished she could keep such an image to herself, whispering memories of it against the hollow of Nefertiri’s throat, fingers digging symbols into her lower back, flesh underneath her nails, and how beautiful she would look, knowing she could not fight it, could not brush it away as she always had with others.

“Your Highness,” she stood at the edge of the pool, her reflection smiling beneath her. “Your distrust of others can be a curse, you know, leaving yourself so vulnerable in such an open place.”

Nefertiri was not alarmed by her presence, as suited by only a glance over her shoulder, before tending back to washing herself. “If I were not concerned about my being, I would not have made such a mistake. My handmaiden is in the next room.”

Reaching down, she watched as the clear image of her faded into a ripple upon picking out a single purple flower from the water. Ah, yes. There had always been an answer to everything, had there not? While she had just been a Pharaoh’s daughter, she still had much more capability than even the Royal Guards had in her militant ways—sometimes causing whisper amongst the lower classes that believe she had been much more masculine, thus out of place in a king’s court, alas it had faded away with the lack of confidence to dare defy such a person of high power, but Anck-su-namun had laughed at the thought regardless—that even something as simple as a bath had lead toward a well-thought plan.

“Allow me to help you, Princess,” she said, throwing the flower back into the water to watch it drift along the surface, finding it’s place amongst one of the tiled walls pressed over and over by the slow drift of water.

“You are a High Priestess, not a maid.”

“And yet, I am still underneath your call, are I not?”

Nefertiri frowned, watching the woman trail the edge of the large bath, until she stood before her. She looked down at the princess, ignoring the sleight of her clavicle and the swell of her breasts to keep her gaze straight in her line of vision. She nearly burst into laughter upon looking into the other woman’s eyes, collectively blue, but otherwise with a fervent assertive factor behind them. It was, of course, an offense to defy such royalty, but she had earned the title _Viper_ for a reason.

Without another word, Nefertiri reached out to hand her the cloth, before turning her back to her as if it were nothing more than a simple request without the silenced poetries between them, written amongst her skin and the enunciation of their words, in ways that trust can be broken and yet what breaks if it never existed in the first place? Leaning down to bring her hand into the water, she poured the aromatic water over the nape of her neck, gently tracing the line of bruises with the tips of her fingers.

“What beauty,” she pressed the cloth against her skin, “You present yourself as untouchable and yet, it seems so easy to get underneath your skin.” She felt the line of her shoulder blades smoothing into the middle of her spine and it would only remain a wish to be able to count bone for bone in her body; mummification would not _appeal_ with royalty, it was a sense to see everything she was made of to be removed until she were nothing more, but for now it remained with fingers twined in her hair and the single echo of a cry against the walls.

 

 

 

It was not a scythe, it had not been anything grand at all—unfortunate on Anck-su-namun's part, for she wished to watch the betrayal in Nefertiri's eyes with great shock: to be killed with the item protected by the one who betrayed her in the end. Had it all gone to plan (had Imhotep not ruined it so early), she would have picked her apart, one by one, watching blood fill onto her collarbone, washing the palms of her hands—but instead poison. It was not her first choice, nor would it have been _any_ of her choices if time were not limited, but it was an option to be implemented immediately.

Obtained by an apothecary, it was simple to barter for the poison of the _haje_. It was in her luck that she had planned ahead—days before the uproar of the High Priest's betrayal—and that the apothecary himself did not lead the Guard to her immediately. It was their only regard to keep a close eye on her and anyone else who had been within immediate reach of the Pharaoh and his daughter, which Anck-su-namun found around easily, for the furthest danger anyone could even fall for is the danger of feminine wiles. How she would have proved them all wrong in their belief that a _woman_ was nothing more than a _companion_ would be the greatest gift of all.

Revenge, sought for a royal, and how lovely it would be. For once, she had caught the princess off-guard—a hand around her wrist pressed against the wall and a vial to her lips—with not the regard of shock in her bright eyes, but the disappointment in herself for allowing her own _cleverly_ placed trap to catch her had she been a little less willing protection from others.

"You're ruthless—" Nefertiri choked out between a sob and a spat of anger. "You betrayed me—"

Her hand rested against the cool skin of her neck, thumb tracing along her jaw. "Betrayed you, your _highness_? Perhaps it was better of you to not trust anyone at all, but I appreciate you being so kind in allowing me the location of Anubis' scythe. I only wish I could have watched you fall at the hands of such a weapon."

"They will stop you, they know you are working with Imhotep."

"Such hope," she whispered, leaning down so that their faces were nearly touching. She could hear the princess' labored breaths with the last of her strength administered for playing _good_. Had the shadows of the moon not reflected along her cheeks, had her skin not been flushed like the day they placed the scythe into its hiding, it would have been a much larger disappointment to watch Nefertiri fall by her hand. "They won't discover you've died until morning. How will they find me if they have no idea where to look?"

The Viper gave one last regard of a malicious grin, watching Nefertiri's anger lead into a triste realization, aware that now she had been unstoppable, failing all that had been required of her underneath her father's rule, and watched the threads between hands break all at once as she felt the threnody of her life come to an end with the sensation of Anck-su-namun's cool lips pressed against her brow.


End file.
